


Tomorrow Never Knows

by ayoungvein



Category: All Time Low, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, The Academy Is...
Genre: Alternate Universe - Asylum, F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 13:56:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayoungvein/pseuds/ayoungvein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The hospital was many things. A prison. An escape for the sick and dying. Many came chasing a cure, others sought the place to die. They were all there for different reasons, and then there was him- he was seeking redemption.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tomorrow Never Knows

Patrick Stump did not want to go into work that morning. Albeit it was his first day at his new job, Patrick had endured a thumping headache for most of the night and then had awoken to a stiff morning greeting from his girlfriend, as he had forgotten their anniversary… again. This time, though, it wasn’t necessarily his fault; the anticipation to begin his new job at the hospital had occupied his time, and it wasn’t his fault if Elisa decided that flowers and cards held a higher denotation than that of this opportunity the doctor had been awarded.

She was making eggs when he traipsed down the stairs of their modest gabled house that they’d purchased only three months previous, on the horizon of their two-year anniversary together. Patrick had fallen in love with the humble abode driving by it one day on his way to work, when he still worked at Norwich City General. Elisa had accepted profusely when he asked her to move into the place with him.

“Good morning,” he said, humming to himself a little as he gamboled around the kitchen and set four pieces of bread in the toaster.

“Morning,” said Elisa stiffly. She was still upset with him. “What time are you going down?”

He checked his watch. “Probably fifteen minutes.” He clapped his hands together. “Want to be early.”

“Of course you do,” she muttered, stirring the eggs in the frying pan. When they were scrambled enough to her liking, she served them on two plates and slammed Patrick’s down on the table a little rougher than usual.

He tried to ignore it. “This is quite the opportunity, Elisa. Norwich hasn’t opened the place in over fifty years.”

She peeked at him over the top of her mug as she sipped at her coffee. “And for good reason.”

“Don’t say that. Those people have just as much right to treatment as anyone else.”

“Yes, but at what cost?!”

“Elisa,” Patrick clucked his tongue and abandoned his plate of eggs to lean back in his chair and catch her eyes. She was still pretty, even after two years of commitment, and two years of stress from her own work at Norwich City General, where the two had met. Her black curls cascaded onto her shoulders in curt ringlets, her smile was still full and dimpled, and her thin brows arched on her face as if to challenge Patrick into an argument the morning of their anniversary.

But Patrick wasn’t an idiot, so he retreated from it immediately and went to retrieve the toast that had popped up. Idly, he commented, “Things have changed there.”

“You better not,” she snapped briskly, “I told you I didn’t want you working there. For God sakes, Patrick, you know how you become attached to your patients.”

“And that’s why I received this opportunity, to begin with.”

“That’s all very well,” she said, “but Patrick, you’re not married to your work. Stop acting like it.”

“Those people need me, Elisa, and I’m not going to let them die so you can have some piece of mind!” Patrick raised his voice, only an octave, abandoned the rest of his breakfast, snatched his keys off the counter and exited the house to the old Trans Am parked in the driveway. The motor clunked, as it always did, when he switched the ignition, and he pulled out of the home with quick precision, a thumping headache, and anger boiling in his veins that would not do well in his line of work.

He knew why he had accepted the transfer, in the first place. It was because he liked to help people, wanted humanity to be the best of. It was, maybe, an obsession of his; and maybe, Elisa had a right to be short about his new job, but it was also her selfishness that propelled her. When the two had worked at Norwich City General, things had been convenient. They could carpool together, arrange dinner dates on break, and catch up during lunch. Now, he had ruined her carefully-knitted plans and closed-off schedule. Frankly, though, he didn’t think he gave a damn.

He hadn’t gone through medical school to avoid an opportunity that hadn’t come around in fifty years.

Patrick made the turn onto the highway and watched the city of Norwich flit past his peripheral vision in shades of green balsams and red bricked housing over the hills. It was a storybook sort of city: Norwich, Connecticut. Patrick had moved to the city for college and had never left since graduation; he had fallen in love with the place. With the wintry frosts in December and the shoveling snow in the driveway, with the hot summer months and sipping lemonade on the front porch, with the drives into town and capering past historical monuments and quaint tea shops and antiquated carriage rides that always put Elisa in a chipper mood, forgotten anniversary or not.

It was the kind of city Patrick had a future in.

Lost in his own mind, Patrick almost missed his exit; but as soon as he was once on track, he was more attentive to the road laid out in front of him. He made a turn onto a side road and followed a little lane of amber trees to where an archway stood open to a circular drive. In the middle was an empty fountain, filled with grime and sludge from the rainy September; and above the gate, in proud and prominent letters, were the words: NORWICH ASYLUM.

Patrick drove to the parking lot where sparse cars were, shut off the vehicle and walked up the stunted staircase to the front doors. Norwich Asylum was, for its size, an impressive force. It loomed over the back lane of Sherman Street, and the red brick fortress stood stark and prevalent in wake of the morphing trees: the sienna browns, the cold ambers, even the scarlet reds that made up the dying autumn season. The place had been renovated, what looked like several, times. Broken windows had been repaired, the brick had been cleaned and refined, the roof had been shingled over. Still, there were parts of the asylum that still reflected the building’s haunted past. Ivy crawled up many of the whitewashed stakes, the fountain was empty and sludgy, sodden leaves and cigarettes banked against the sides of the manor, and along the front door were still nicks in the archway and what looked like unkempt cobwebs.

Regardless, he entered the rejuvenated asylum into a large foyer that could easily have fit two of Patrick’s houses in it. There a lone oak desk was situated with a secretary, looking bored and underpaid, as she clacked mechanically on the keys of the computer, eyes glazed over and reflecting the window of paperwork she was typing out.

“Excuse me.” Patrick approached her.

Automatically, she responded, without looking up, “All voluntary admissions must fill out the paperwork beforehand.”

“No.” Patrick shook his head. “I’m the new doctor.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed, turning to face him so Patrick received a good look at her. Her skin was wrinkled and pitted in places, she was missing a few yellowed teeth, and large pearled jewelry hung from her neck and ears. “You must be Doctor Stump.”

He nodded.

“Oh,” she cackled pleasantly, “let me be the first to welcome you, Doctor Stump, to Norwich Asylum.”

 

 

\---

 

Norwich Asylum had closed down many years ago after the collapse of the asylum regime that had ruled over the nineteenth century because of health laws and inhumane practices no longer being permitted. Since then, Connecticut had been facing a dilemma with rooming shortages for psychiatric patient as the state could only fund so many of said hospitals on the reduced budget they had been granted. It had then gone to the city council of what to do with these problems, for they couldn’t very well leave mentally untreated people on the streets of Norwich.

Finally, it had been unanimously voted for reopening Norwich Asylum, which could house a generous one thousand patients, as history had shown. With the right preparations, upkeep, and new laws in psychiatric medicine, the city saw no reason why the state hospital could not be fully operational once again.

Patrick had received the call at his residence late into the morning, when he had still been curled into bed next to Elisa. His reputation, it seemed, had preceded him as the hospital had found out his little renown in the Norwich area and admitted to him, still shocked and sleepy, that he was their first candidate for employment.

Immediately, the doctor had accepted.

“There you are!” A man was striding towards him, a clipboard in his hand, shuffling papers around indolently as he made his way over. “Dr. Patrick Stump, I presume.”

Patrick nodded.

“Right.” The man had a scraggly looking beard that looked like it was not allowed, cropped hair, and very loose garments that seemed questionable for his position. “I’m Dr. Jon Walker. I’m the head of staff, here, at Norwich. I can show you around, if you’d like.”

“That’d be much appreciated,” Patrick thanked him, and the two of them set off down the hospital corridors where a series of doors seemed locked and forbidden.  
Jon hardly glanced at them as he continued listing off Patrick’s accomplishments from his résumé. “You seem pretty capable.”

“I was surprised when you called,” he admitted. “My girlfriend, she didn’t even want me to take the job. She has visions of _One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest_.”

Jon chuckled. “We’ve assimilated wonderfully into modern times,” Jon explained. “There’s much more privileges than there are punishments. Patients can walk along the Thames River, accompanied by a nurse or doctor, of course. We have an on-campus smoking area, and the cafeteria food isn’t as bad a you’d think.”

At this, Patrick laughed, “I won’t hold my breath.”

The two of them meandered down a hall a little further, turn into an adjacent corridor and walk up a flight of stairs that bring them to a much livelier looking maze of halls. The ones upstairs smelled of fresh paint and primer, the windows were cleaner and opened to a spectacular view of treetops and the Thames River, filmily splashing below. Patrick would dare call it picturesque.

“Down this hall, here,” Jon directed, “We have your patients. There’s twenty of them in the community residence, at the moment. Probably watching television or listening to the radio.” He waved off the thought. “Down the hall, here, are there rooms. Two to a bedroom. Mealtimes are at 9:30, 11:30, and 5:30, respectively. Lights go out at ten. Any questions, so far?”

Patrick shook his head.

They reached the door at the end of the hallway, and Jon paused before he placed his hand on the knob. He turned towards Patrick with a baited breath. “Are you ready?”

And as the rusted doorknob turned under his fingers, Patrick began to wonder what he had gotten himself into.


End file.
